


Fortifications

by Antihelen



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 06:43:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8134087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Antihelen/pseuds/Antihelen
Summary: A pair of one shots that I rediscovered and realised I never moved over to AO3.  Mostly an archiving exercise but, hey, there might still be someone out there reading this pairing.Chapter one: StrengthChapter two: Grief





	1. Strength

**Author's Note:**

> These are from the very early days of dipping my toes into the fic writing pool. I may regret this later. In the meantime, I'm hoping it is the incentive I need to actually start writing again (trying to, at least).

Arthur carries much weight on his shoulders, and for all that his upbringing has been lesson upon lesson of how to bear that burden, there remain days that it feels remarkably heavy.

Arthur knows that this is how it should be, that to one day be a true king is to have no moment where he is unaware of the importance of his responsibilities. Nevertheless, there remain nights where he cannot sleep for the terror that he will stumble under the load entrusted to him, and prove unable to stand straight beneath it.

Arthur’s greatest nightmare is to be unworthy.

\-----

Leon came to Camelot to be a knight. He has played his part in Arthur’s upbringing, training and teaching, but he takes equal pride in that Arthur has never needed be shown how to be a good man, or a good ruler; not deep in his core, where it counts.

Leon is Arthur’s right hand for some time before either of them realise. He takes the weight from his prince where he can, and where he cannot, he supports Arthur so that he himself can bear it more easily. Leon offers his strength to Arthur, and becomes stronger in return.

\-----

Camelot, the responsibility of protecting her, is as heavy as the white stones from which she is built, and yet this is a feather to the weighty importance of her inhabitants. Arthur will be a mighty king because he knows this truth better than anything in his soul; a city is its people, not its structures. Only one can be rebuilt.

Camelot does not fear, because it knows the truth of its protection. It is not its walls or its gates, but the people that stand before them. Camelot’s knights, united and impenetrable, are its guards of flesh and metal.

\-----

They would die for Camelot, Arthur and Leon. They would give their lives for each other too, but they also live, and sometimes that is harder.

They sneak touches and glances, secret moments amongst councils and battles, responsibilities and expectations.

They protect their entanglement, and for all that it must exist in shadows, do not allow it to be diminished for this.

They understand the weight of their actions, its cost but also its gain. It yields the strength that they take back into the light and which allows them to protect all they hold close; Camelot, and each other.


	2. Grief (my heart weeps where my eyes may not)

Arthur has been allowed so little time to mourn. For all his difficulties with his father and his expectations, for all that he has spent the last year watching his parent, his sovereign, become a shadow of the man to whom he had looked up with such awe, the grief hits him with an unexpected intensity.

Whenever his thoughts brush up against the memory, the reality, he has to force it away again, a horse shying from the shadow. If he does not, the emotions become a physical thickness in his throat, and to force words out around it would be an impossibility.

His father has just died, and Arthur is ruler of Camelot. Even separately these are so overwhelming that he does not know where to begin; he always knew this day would come, yet now that it is here, too soon, he feels nothing but utterly unprepared. 

He can give Uther only one night, head bowed in respect and a sadness of regret and loss. Come morning, he must open the doors and take the crown, prove himself worthy of Camelot. Prove himself worthy of his father. He cannot leave his grief behind, but he can lock it away in the room that holds his father’s body. Arthur does not know how else to deal with it all.

The rays of the sun do nothing to warm him; it feels like a ghost has been through his body and left behind nothing but cold. He wonders if he can never be warm again.

Arthur must be a king first and a son second. It is the most difficult thing he has ever had to do.

\---

Arthur has tried so hard to push everyone away. He treats Merlin and Gwen as his servants, his advisors, but not his friends. They accept it, though not happily.

He reminds himself that the knights are just that; his warriors, not his companions. It is enough that he may ask them to die, he cannot request anything else of them. They comply because they cannot deny him, some confused, some with understanding.

Arthur does not enjoy it: as one hand moves these people away, the other is desperate to grab hold and pull them near again. 

He controls the impulse even as it makes him feel more alone than ever. He must make his own sacrifices before he can ask them of other people, and these are simply the first of many.

Leon, though, refuses to be pushed. As much as Arthur tries to force him back, he will not be moved. His knight is calm and implacable, and still by his side. It makes Arthur want to cry, and he does not know what the tears would be for.

\---

The King of Camelot enters his rooms. It is barely a fortnight since his father di – since he was crowned ruler.

There is a noise by his door, and Arthur turns to send Merlin away, until he sees a flash of red from the corner of his eye.

He knows it is Leon; no-one else would have dared enter. Camelot is out of balance still, everyone trying to understand their new positions. Nothing fits, and Arthur fears that he is not enough to keep everyone together until new joins can be made.

“What do you need, Sir Leon?” He asks, and his voice sounds cold to his own ears.

“Nothing, my lord,” is the answer, and Leon stands in his room looking nothing but a respectful knight awaiting his liege.

The impression lasts as long as it takes Arthur’s gaze to reach the other’s eyes; they are too soft, too compassionate, to be anything impersonal.

It is too much, and though Arthur will not allow himself to turn away, he breaks his sight from Leon’s.

He knows what Leon is going to say even before he says it.

“I am here to see how I can be of service to my lord,” he continues, but where he says ‘my lord’ he means ‘Arthur’, and that too is what Arthur hears. 

It is deliberate; Leon is far too measured for such a slip of the tongue and tone, and they both know it. Leon will always serve his king, but today he is here for the man.

It makes Arthur’s stomach clench, cold and tight. He desperately wants to accept, and that is why he cannot allow this to continue.

“If I require anything I shall send for it, Sir Leon,” he says, and if he were anywhere else, with anyone else, he could have prevented the minute tremor in his voice. If it had been anyone else, they would not have noticed it.

Leon does. Leon always does.

The knight steps forward, pauses, moves forward again.

Arthur catches him in his hesitation with a sharp “Sir Leon,” the exclamation sudden enough that the words seem to roll in to one.

“My king,” Leon tries.

“Leon!” In any other situation Leon would heed him. Here, though, Leon can hear the panic in Arthur’s voice. He has drawn himself so tight that did Leon not know his liege so well, he would fear Arthur was going to shatter.

“Arthur,” Leon says again, soft and gentle, and no other counter to Arthur’s detached coldness could have worked so thoroughly.

With that word, Arthur knows that he cannot stop Leon coming to him. He has seen that look in his eyes before; when Leon sees the danger clearly before him and knows that the sensible option is to retreat, only to throw himself into it with a single minded belief.

Leon, when he decides a cause requires fighting, is one of the most stubborn people Arthur has ever met. He is a boulder rolling downhill, strong and determined, and nothing in the world can stop him until the journey comes to an end.

Arthur wants to halt him, but he is just a man. Leon reaches him, and with another “Arthur,” has him in his arms. Arthur should push him away, it is what he has been trying to do for days, and the comfort now is only going to make things worse.

A king has no time for such reassurances.

He would tell Leon that, only I am an orphan now, he thinks suddenly, and the idea hits him from nowhere. It is ludicrous, in a way; the word does not change anything, and if nothing else, it is ridiculous that it has not occurred to him before now.

Arthur knows he should be stronger than this, but all he can think of now is that word, chasing itself over and over in his head and scratching away at the doors of that room he cannot acknowledge. 

Orphan, Arthur thinks, and his knees are weak beneath him, but Leon’s arms are strong around him. Arthur buries his face in Leon’s neck and hides from the world. 

A deep, shuddering breath breaks free from his throat when he tries to inhale, and he is not even aware of his fists clenched tightly in Leon’s cloak. One of his nails breaks the skin of the palm of his hand. Drops of blood well up only to be soaked away by the red material, hidden.

Neither of them notice.

Arthur is silent after that, and his eyes remain dry, but his grip on Leon is desperate and tight. 

Leon surrounds him, and his cheek rests against Arthur’s head. Arthur can feel the knight’s breath against his ear, and he is beyond gratitude that Leon does not speak. There are no words that can help, and this is not a time for platitudes, however much they may be meant.

They remain that way for a long time, Leon shielding Arthur while Arthur tries not to break.

They separate finally, but Arthur’s sight is fixed on his hands, twisted deep in Leon’s cloak. It is a bright day, and his back is to the window. Bathed in sun, it remains cool, but everywhere that Leon has touched is infused with warmth. It is the first time Arthur has felt the heat in days.

Arthur can feel Leon’s gaze upon him, and he knows that he could never push this man away. It is as though the space at his side was created for Leon to fill. 

He needs to leave his rooms soon, has to exit his doors and be Camelot’s king again. For now though, he is Arthur, and it is Leon who has allowed him that.

Leon will not move until he asks him to. Perhaps not even then; the truth is that Leon will stay as long as Arthur needs him there. Sometimes Arthur needs Leon to show him that what he thinks he needs, and what he actually needs, are not always the same thing.

Arthur detaches his hands, freeing one finger for every slow breath that he takes. Finally, and only once that is done, does he look up at Leon. 

Leon lets go of Arthur and nods. “My king,” he says, because he knows that is what Arthur needs to hear now.

He steps back and allows Arthur to lead them to the doors. Later, there will be time for Arthur to be Arthur and Leon to be Leon. For now, though, Arthur must go to the council room and discuss border issues and grain taxes, and Leon will go to the armoury to take stock checks and plan patrols.

Arthur places his hand upon the door handle. He can sense Leon by his side.

For the first time since the crown was placed upon his head, Arthur feels ready.


End file.
